Turned
by Pseudonym P
Summary: "I love you so much," he whispers again—again and again and again because he cannot tell her enough, "I love you so much, Elsa. I want you—I need you. Just you, always you." / Vampire AU Jelsa fic based on stronGyu's Jelsa edit on tumblr. Rated for smut and sad feelings.
1. no complaints from my body

_Many, many thanks to the amazing __**stronGyu**__ on tumblr for the prompt. Actually, it was just a Jelsa edit that I fell in love with, so I'm basically just supplying words to genius. _

_This fic will be short, spanning only less than two thousand words a chapter (not sure how many chapters yet, exactly), which is slightly embarrassing. Also, sorry for the awkward sex – I'm limited to my own (pitiful) experiences. But I think I've read enough M-rated fics to at least vaguely describe that yes, the sausage goes into the bun._

* * *

**TURNED  
**_prologue_

by Pseudonym P

* * *

Her lips are like ice, but they start a fire in Jackson Overland that nothing but her touch could put out.

The irony wasn't lost on him—the freezing cold of her skin lights up a spark and it spreads, untamed, through him like a forest fire, the forbidden kisses filling with painful longing and overwhelming desire. His fingers burn as they trace through the smooth skin of her bare sides, up her back and into her soft hair. Her tongue slithers out to taste her, to know her, to have her. His heartbeat is irregular, painful, lovely.

He remembers briefly that she had told him that _I love your heart. I like it when it beats underneath my own. Like… like I'm human again._

Her tongue meets his in a passionate dance and his brain short circuits and it's painfully amazing.

He relishes the way her naked chest arches up into his in apparent pleasure and he grinds his hips against hers, feeling her bare skin against his. In response, sharp teeth nip at his lower lip and he bites back, groaning when she moans. He traces her teeth with his tongue, feeling the tips and finding himself intoxicated—he doesn't feel like he could ever get enough of her. Ever _have_ enough of her.

"Jack," she whispers urgently in between their kisses, a soft sound that lights a fire in the pit of his belly. He attacks her then, lips smothering hers like the only goal they had was to cut off her oxygen supply and she gasps before he swallows the rest of the sound. He lets her finish first before he comes to his own completion.

He breathes heavily as he hovers above her. He pushes aside his dark hair and looks into her eyes—sharp, bright, beautiful, _dead_—and he has never felt his heart seize in emotion as it was doing now.

"Elsa," he whispers back, voice hushed and heavy with satisfaction. He kisses her forehead lightly.

The woman—Elsa, her name was—purs in delight, tracing his jaw with porcelain fingers. "Lie next to me." It wasn't an order, more of a suggestion—but either way, Jack would do it.

He would do anything for her.

Jack follows, sliding out of her—she shudders lightly at the loss of him—and lying on his side next to her, propping up on an elbow. He stares down at her with a smile as the moonlight makes her pale skin glow dimly. He finds it beautiful, enchanting. He finds it fitting.

He leans down to press his lips lovingly to her collar. She giggles and leans her head to capture his lips with hers.

"Happy birthday, love," Elsa says softly when they part, her words caressing his heart like a feather. Her fingers trail down to his chest to his torso, and back up his body to caresses his cheek, and Jack leans into her touch, kissing the palm of her hand.

"Thanks," he whispers earnestly. He pulls up the sheets from their feet and tucks them underneath, shielding Elsa's naked body from the cold. She doesn't really need it, but the sweetness of the gesture isn't lost on her. He shimmies himself down until he lies next to her. "I'm twenty-seven now."

Jack feels Elsa stiffen underneath the arm he had wrapped around her waist. "Jack," she warns, obviously not feeling up to having this particular conversation.

He pretends like he didn't hear it. "I'm your age."

Elsa bristles this time. "Jack, don't," she says, a hard edge to her words.

Jack pushes. "I'm ready."

"Well, I'm not," she hisses, pushing up from the bed and away from him. She pulls a sheet to cover herself, shooting him a glare, and he catches it with unflinchingly. She gets up and walks around, searching for her clothes.

Jack sits up and follows her figure with clouded eyes. His brows furrow. "Elsa—"

She shakes her head vehemently and picks up something from the floor. "Stop, Jack. Please."

"Why, Elsa?" he almost roars, but holds himself back. This is Elsa, _his_ Elsa, and as much as he loves her with his heart and body and mind and soul he was honestly sick of this—sick of her treating him like a fucking _kid_, like he didn't want her, like he didn't _need_ her. "Elsa, my family is _dead_, I have no one else—"

"No," she says firmly, trying her best not to cry.

But Jack is persistent. "No what, Elsa? How could you—I'm _invisible_ here, no one _sees_ me—"

"_No_!" Elsa's crying now, because she's frustrated, because she doesn't want this for him, because he _doesn't fucking get it_. He's been asking for a year and she's never going to be ready. "I'm not doing this to you!" she shrieks, yanking on her underwear and dropping the sheet to wipe away tears of frustration. "I am not letting you live like me!"

"Why not?" Jack pushes himself up from the bed and strides over to her without a care for decency. He takes her by the elbows and forces her to look him in the eye. "Why not, Elsa? I love you!"

"I am not doing this to you!" she repeats, voice still shrill. She tries to back away from him, but Jack just pulls her close and crushes her lips to his, wrapping a hand at the back of her neck to hold her, feel her, have her.

"I love you," he says against her lips, moving to her neck. "I love you. I need you."

"I'm just going to hurt you," she whispers, voice frail and flimsy, helpless to stop his ministrations on her body.

_It's not worth it_, she told him then. _It's not worth the pain and the loneliness. It's not worth finding people and watching them die. I'm not doing this to you. I'm just going to hurt you._

He leads them back to the bed and he pulls away, cupping her cheeks in his hands. He looks straight into her eyes, a bright blue that set his heart aflame with desire whenever she would look at him.

He always, _always_ wants her to look at him.

"There's nothing for me here," he tells her sincerely, and Elsa tries her hardest to stop her tears. The ones that escape, Jack kisses away. "I love you."

"I love you," she chokes, and Jack kisses her again, pushing her down to the bed and gingerly tugging off her underwear, touching her and holding her and kissing her and feeling her, making her feel for the second time that night how much he loves her, how much needs her.

"I love you so much," he whispers again—again and again and _again_ because he cannot tell her enough—when she was close to her peak, and Elsa was delirious with emotion. "I love you so much, Elsa. I want you—I need you. Just you, _always_ you."

"I love you," she gasps—again and again and again but he knows, he knows it by heart—her hands fisting in his dark hair, "Just you. Always you." She comes with a sharp cry and Jack hugs her close, her release triggering his own. He pulls out of her a moment later with a kiss and lies next to her, pulling Elsa to rest comfortably on his chest.

Silence shrouds them in a thick haze of satisfaction.

"I love you," he says, and he feels Elsa smile against his skin.

"I love you, too," she whispers, "So much, Jack." She clings to him tighter. "I hate fighting with you."

"Me, too," he whispers sincerely, caressing her bare shoulder with his thumb.

"I just wish—" Elsa sighs. "I don't want you to feel what I feel." After a moment, she continues, "It's not… easy, Jack. Being what I am. You will never see the sun. You'll always feel hungry. You won't be happy."

"I will have you," he murmurs with utmost certainty, like it's a fact. "I will be happy."

"How can you be so sure?" she whispers.

Jack presses a kiss to her hair. "Because I trust you."

He hears Elsa sigh, almost in defeat. "You should never trust a vampire, Jack."

"I don't trust a vampire," he tells her, pulling her up to look at him. "I trust Elsa." He kisses her again and the argument dies in her throat. It was quiet.

"If we were both human," she says suddenly, bitterness coating her words, "this would be a lot less complicated." Jack laughs, because it's true, somewhat. But if they were both human, they would have never seen each other. If they were both human, they would live far away, long away. If they were both human, they'd live different lifetimes.

If they were both human, she'd be dead.

"If we were both human," he replies without missing a beat, "I would have never known happiness the way I know it with you."

Elsa stays silent. She places a chaste kiss to his chest and clings to him, and he breathes in the smell of her.

* * *

_Sorry for the annoying post-chapter note, but I would like to know if any of you would like a playlist to listen to while reading this. Let me know in a review, if you wish._


	2. i've been drinking, i've been drinking

**TURNED  
**_chapter 1_

by Pseudonym P

* * *

Jack was nineteen when he sets his eyes on her for the first time in his life.

It's a little bit close to midnight and the bars in the city are teeming with people, illuminated by harsh white streetlights and colorful neon club signs. The people are scattered in groups, some sober, some drunk, some tumbling and some delirious, but the buzz of people's voices mesh together to form a blanket of white noise that helps Jack drown out whatever he's thinking of.

He's all for drinking away his troubles since he was left an orphan a year ago and he lost his family to a freak fire accident. He had been away to university at the time so he was spared, but what was the fucking point, right?

He would go out with his circle of "friends," who were all really just idiots who never held on to anything, because they somehow believe that getting drunk and not remembering the previous night's events could be called "living it up."

Pathetic, really, but that's the way the world operates on its axis-turning.

He should have died of alcohol poisoning by now considering the amount of booze he drank on a weekly basis. Jack even got into bar fights (real, actual bar fights that had beer mugs as weapons and it was funny the first time but after you get smacked across the face with one it just loses its appeal), but somehow death kept his bony fingers away from Jack.

And Jack, well, he always had a nasty habit of waking up alive.

It's past midnight now and he takes a break from his idiot friends and lights a cigarette outside the club entrance, watching the occasional car pass by the practically empty streets but almost full sidewalks. Neon lights are splashed against the black of his coat and he edges away from the crowd. Some people are laughing and some are screaming and some are crying but he's sure most of them are drunk. Jack takes another drag.

He sees her out of the corner of his eye and he's sure she doesn't look like she belongs. She's dressed… not for a bar, definitely, with light colors and long sleeves and jeans and glasses and practically the words _NOT DTF_ tattooed on her forehead, but she looks good anyway. She had a simple dark dress and her light hair was tied up. She was talking to a big, muscular guy who probably did college football and seems to be completely drunk off his ass, yet only talking to her—miraculously enough.

In hindsight, Jack should have found this remarkably interesting, but he was too busy staring at the girl. Had he seen her before?

Without warning, the guy slumps against the wall. She expertly steps away from his large, hulking frame, and her eyes flicker up to meet his. She was gone in an instant.

But her blue eyes were memorable.

He puts out the cigarette with the sole of his shoe and shuffles back inside to meet with his idiot friends.

* * *

He doesn't see her again until a year later.

Jack goes out to drink again, this time with a different crowd at a different bar. The lights are yellow but dim enough to still dub the place shady enough to get drunk at. It was more relaxed, made for social drinking, but Jack had every intention of finishing half a case of beer and maybe an entire bottle of vodka. He doesn't usually join in the cheers and whoops and hollers, but today he does, since it's probably a cause of celebration.

After all, it was his sister's birthday today.

But somehow after a shitload of beer and a few handfuls of shots later he's still standing, so he figures what the fuck and he walks out while pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. He finishes one stick when he goes back inside for round two and finishes a lot of mixed drinks and more beer cans than he can even count, so he walks back out, toeing the line between buzzed and smashed, feeling slightly victorious. _Fuck you, universe_, he thinks, lighting another cigarette.

He drops it to the damp pavement when he sees her again.

She's standing a ways away from him, watching the crowds like she was looking for someone. By some weird surge of courage (or stupidity, he can't really tell at this point), he walks up to her—or maybe stumbles, the ground looks blurry at this point after all—and grins.

"Looking for someone?" he asks her, and she eyes him with interest.

"Kind of," she says, and maybe it's the alcohol talking, but her voice sounds like honey tastes.

"Define 'kind of,'" he almost slurs, but he's in front of a pretty girl and he's not going to embarrass himself.

She stands up a little straighter and mumbles something like, "You're drunk," before turning to walk away. He's pretty sure he's _not_ drunk—at least not yet; he's buzzed at _most_—and cries out for her. He reaches forward, but he misses her wrist. She can't _possibly_ move that fast, so he's chalking it up to his alcohol intake kicking him into a slightly uncoordinated state.

"Wait," he manages, "Can I at least get your name?"

But she's already gone.

Minutes later Jack is back inside drinking another shitload of alcohol, definitely crossing smashed territory, and he wakes up in his apartment bedroom the morning after feeling like crap.

He remembers blue eyes.

* * *

He doesn't know why the fuck he's doing it to himself, but he takes it upon himself to look for her.

Jack takes every chance now to drink with his meathead "buddies" and the fancy drinkers-slash-art group to just maybe, maybe come across her again. He's even gone so far as to pay for some of the drinks they would order (he curses himself for this the day after when he realizes that he is broke as _fuck_ and the money his parents left him isn't made to be satisfying meathead drinking habits), and they check out almost every bar in town.

He's finally successful, after months of bar hopping, and he finds her at the second place he saw her. She's alone this time, and he takes the chance before it flees. He ushers his friends inside and makes his way towards her.

"Hi," he says lamely, and he's only slightly buzzed this time, but that's all he can think of right now.

She glares at him. "What do you want?"

"Nothing," he answers honestly, because he really has no idea why he's playing the role of creepy stalker in the play that is this girl's life. "I… I've seen you before."

She's silent, and he stares long enough to discern that even in the dim light of the alley, her eyes are crystal blue. "And so?"

"So," he says, rolling the word around in his mouth. "I wanted to say hi."

"I don't even know you," she says, trying to sidestep him. His hand shoots out and extends towards her.

"Well then, we should fix that," he says, "I'm Jack." The girl stares at him incredulously. Her sour look crumples into something that looks like she's about to laugh. She probably wanted to laugh at his pathetic attempt at an introduction.

"Aren't you smooth?" she teases lightly, all traces of apprehension gone. Jack smirks.

"I try."

She reaches out to shake his hand. "I'm Elsa."

* * *

Jack is twenty-one and he's lurking around almost every bar in town just to get a glimpse of her again.

He's sure he looks creepy, but fuck them, really. He's looking for a gorgeous girl named Elsa, for ice blue eyes and a tinkling laugh, for plum lips and a nice smile, for a chance to talk again.

Jack realizes that he hasn't really talked to anyone in a while.

He's not even subtle about ditching his friends this time ("Hey, Jack, wanna head out with us tonight?" "Nah, you guys go on ahead. I'll be here.") but the moment they shut the door he jumps in the shower and gets dressed in record time.

It's cold—Halloween just finished a few days ago and he's still feeling some of the wild parties he went to—when he lays his eyes on her again. He smiles unknowingly and approaches.

"Hey," he says, and Elsa almost jumps.

"Hey." Elsa turns to him. "Fancy meeting you here."

Jack notices that this is the place where he first saw her. It's probably supposed to mean something.

"Yeah," he says, and shakes his head. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Elsa's eyes flash warily. "No, I don't—"

He raises his hands up in surrender. "I'm not planning anything, I promise. It can even be coffee, if you want."

Elsa looks at the bar entrance, teeming with people, almost wistfully. Her eyes—cold, hard, inviting—land on him and she flashes him a smile. "How about a nice walk instead?" she says, and her lips move in a way that tells him that she is definitely something else.

Jack fights to keep the smile off his face but fails miserably, but the blonde he's talking too doesn't seem to mind. "That would be great, Elsa."

* * *

_**to be continued**_

* * *

_Hello! I hope you're enjoying this story so far, even with the sickeningly short chapters. _

_I just wanted to let you guys know that this story is coming a bit slow (really, I have no idea why but it's taking forever for the writing bones to creak for this one), but I already have a plot prepared. I'm making better progress on my other Jelsa fic, Recover, so if you guys want to check that out, go ahead!_

_Anyway, if you guys have any questions about this fic (plot stuff, music, when I'm most likely to update) or anything you think I can help you with (advice, head canons, whatever), head on over to my tumblr (**gaolings** dot tumblr dot com) and you can send me an ask._

_Sorry for the author's note and I hope you have a good day!_


	3. why can't i get my fingers off it, baby?

**Found the perfect theme song for this fic. Chapter titles will be changed accordingly.**

**Warning: I'm tired as all fucking hell, so I may have done a sloppy job with editing. Let me know of my mistakes and I will fix them ASAP! Thanks.**

* * *

**TURNED**  
_chapter 2_

by Pseudonym P

* * *

Jack is twenty-one when he comes to know Elsa's face by heart.

"Hey," Jack says with a smile when Elsa walks up to him. His phone beeps once, twice—a girl in his sociology class has been texting nonstop. He shuts off his phone and puts it away.

Elsa eyes his hand as it exits his jacket pocket when she pauses to stand in front of him. "Hey." A pause. "Was I…?"

"Definitely not," he says, shaking his head. "So, how are you this fine evening?"

She'll always say "good," and it's a habit that she's built over the past few months that he'd go out of his way to see her. Elsa always asks why and Jack always shrugs. Then they walk through the streets and sometimes outside bare shops, shadows splashed against the lights spilling from windows. It's a routine that's comfortable, to a point, even if Elsa seems content to just listen. And for the first time in his life, Jack feels like he has someone to talk to.

For the first time in his life, Jack feels like someone _gives_ _a_ _shit_ about him.

Okay, maybe it's one-sided. Elsa doesn't talk much but she smiles at him and nods and laughs at his jokes and fuck, when did she get that pretty? She's always been pretty, obviously, but she seems to be getting prettier. Or maybe the world around him is getting shittier.

Or both.

Jack realizes that this could definitely be one-sided. He doesn't care.

"Could be better," she says, totally breaking the routine, and Jack's eyebrows rise by a fraction. This is new.

And it kind of scares him, because Jack sure as hell doesn't want to lose _this_. Whatever the fuck this was. Whatever the fuck you called Elsa and Jack and Jack and Elsa and talking and coffee and walking and hanging out and shit like that. But all he knows is that he's not ready to be alone again.

He's not ready to be alone ever again.

"Yeah?" he asks. _You really wanna go there?_, he means, but she obviously doesn't know. Because this is breaking routine. Because this could go both ways, a fifty-fifty chance. His heart hammers in his chest.

She looks him straight in the eye and Jack thinks it's supposed to _mean_ something. A strange feeling in his fingers makes them twitch. "Yes."

Fifty-fifty.

* * *

Elsa is fucking beautiful.

Jack's trying, fucking hell. He's trying his best to stay away because his life is fucked up as it is and he doesn't want to drag her into it. He's trying his best to just be her friend and talk and lame shit like that but hey, it's good enough. Sure as hell beats killing time alone. But most of all, he's trying his best to not fuck things up.

Yet, as fate would have it, at the same time he's trying as best as he can to keep her for the rest of his life. This woman who has seemingly resigned herself to becoming a freelance therapist for people outside bars, people who are so drunk they can't tell left from right, up form down, black from white—people who are so drunk that they shouldn't be just standing there and _talking shit out_. Elsa's doing something, but he's too focused on trying to get her never leave him than to pay attention to anything else.

And somehow in the middle of all of that trying to keep her and have her and know her, it just hits him that _fuck_, she's fucking _beautiful_.

Jack is an asshole. First he comes onto her (almost a year ago, he notes absently) and he talks to her and she doesn't do much talking but it works. It works, and it works for him. He tells her things and she listens but she talks, too, sometimes, maybe, when she feels like it. Jack doesn't mind. Because she's fucking _there_.

Elsa's fucking there for him. But she could leave. She could leave any fucking time she fucking wants but she's still here and Jack doesn't remember the last time someone bothered like she did. Elsa could make a choice—she could leave, leave him in the dirt, leave him alone, and go be beautiful somewhere else. But she doesn't.

_Fuck_, when the _hell_ did he start feeling this way?

Fifty-fifty, he reminds himself.

Elsa laughs at something that passes by their table outside the coffee shop. He watches her pale hair cascade down her long, elegant neck when she tops her head back, blue eyes bright with mirth and pink lips curled at the edges. He watches her and something in Jack just _snaps_.

_Fuck_ fifty-fifty.

Jack is an asshole.

* * *

Jack is twenty-two when shit goes down.

He was out for a smoke while Elsa was in and she comes out of the shop grimacing at the cancer stick in his hands. The sky is dim above them, close to dusk and the air is chilly. He grins sheepishly because she told him once that she didn't like the smell and doesn't like it when it sticks, but Jack can't help but be an asshole. She doesn't bother him, though. He's grateful.

They're walking, and Jack doesn't even remember to where. But all he knows for sure that there's just this _moment_ when they're just doing the things they normally do hanging out and Elsa looks at him, but it's enough to send the stem of the cigarette crumpling between his fingers.

He doesn't really plan it, and that's probably the reason. Then again, Jack barely fucking plans anything. The more unplanned, the better. Things don't matter now, not since the accident.

But somehow, Elsa matters. Elsa fucking _matters_.

They're walking along the streets—like they always do—and he just stops and definitely rude because Elsa's talking. Elsa's talking and he's not paying attention and he fucking stops in the middle of the pavement, effectively cutting her off.

God, he's such a fucking asshole.

He throws his cigarette in the dirt and crushes it with the heel of his boot, and she smiles gratefully, eyes twinkling and totally forgiving him for cutting her off and that fucking _smile_ does him in.

He looks at her while she's a few steps ahead, seeing her bright blue eyes and her light, raised eyebrow and her pink lips and her flushed cheeks and her neck buried beneath a magenta scarf that makes her look pinker and fuck. She's beautiful, she's so fucking beautiful.

She's beautiful and he cuts her off and throws his favorite suicidal habit away because he fucking wants her. He fucking _wants_ _her_.

He's such a fucking selfish asshole.

"Go out with me." He doesn't say it, really, because saying involves smooth words and conversation. This is forced and hard and painful—so, so painful, because Elsa's looking at him like she doesn't want to.

"Jack," she starts, and Jack feels like he wants to run. He's always wanted to run, but never from this, never from her. Yet now, he wants to run away from Elsa, for the first time in his life. He wants to run away from the only person who has ever made him feel like he was _worth_ something.

"No," he says—no, forces—again, and he looks away. He can't look at her. He can't look at blue eyes that he's willing to admit that he's loved for sometime and see rejection. No, fuck no. He's not going to taint the Elsa he has. "It's fine."

"Jack, please—"

"I'll see you tomorrow." He feels her fingers lightly touch his elbow before he turns and walks away.

But Jack knows without a shadow of a doubt that he's coming back to her, because walking away and staying away are two very, very different things.

* * *

_**to be continued**_

* * *

_If you don't know where all the chapter titles are coming from (to which I say, WHY), check out Beyoncé's _Drunk In Love_._


	4. filthy when that liquor get into me

**Warnings: Jacking (LOL PUN) off. Almost blowjob. Mentions of sex, but vaguely. **

**My editing isn't very thorough. I'm really exhausted, but this chapter was begging to be written. Feel free to leave comments and I'll correct them as soon as possible.**

**Sex will actually start popping up time and again. I'm apologizing in advance due to my limited experiences with sex (none to limited, actually), so I probably won't write it well enough. But here's to trying.**

* * *

**TURNED  
**_chapter 3_

by Pseudonym P

* * *

This is stupid.

The air is thick between them after that asking out incident and he's not numb. Even if he wants to be, he's not. Hell, he doesn't even need to feel it because he can practically fucking _see_ it—the way Elsa's smile is strained and how her eyes are darker, the space between them growing.

_Fuck_ this.

This is so fucking stupid. Why is he even _here_?

The pain is twisting in his gut because this is _his_ fucking fault.

But she tries to make it right by him—and that, that's why he's here. She doesn't avoid him (which is fucking great, with no sarcasm intended at all, because Jack would definitely choose a shortcut to Deadsville if he never saw her face again), and she tries to make things normal.

Keyword: tries.

He's still fucking in love with her. Of course he is—he's never been in love, but the shitty portrayals he sees in movies all have one thing in common: it doesn't go away that easily. Jack can attest to that.

Elsa just keeps getting more beautiful everyday. She's getting prettier, smarter, funnier, lovelier, _hotter_—every single positive adjective he can think of—with each passing day, passing minute, passing second. The sun is bright under the pores of her skin and she's so fucking perfect that he would vomit if he didn't love her. He wants to touch her and hug her and hold her and love her.

Holy shit, he wants to fuck her so _hard_. So hard she'll see stars.

They're out for dinner and she's talking (which she started doing much more lately), and her voice is so sexy—raspy but full and he's not supposed to, but he's imagining how she'll sound like under him on his bed when he has his dick inside her, slick and hot and wet and _inside her_, making her feel the way the way that he does for her—

"Jack?" she asks, and he nearly drops his fork.

"Sorry," he says, voice muffled when he bends over to pick up the utensil. He asks for a new one and looks back at her. "Yeah?"

And she's biting her lip and oh God she's doing this on purpose, making him look at her full lips and he can't help but imagine how lovely they'd look around his—

Jack stands abruptly and excuses himself for the restroom.

He locks the door, but it doesn't take long. The image of Elsa's bottom lip trapped under her pearly white teeth sends him over the edge, his hand curled in a fist, almost cruel in their motions.

He feels stupid. He feels so fucking stupid.

* * *

Jack is twenty-three when he thinks he gets over Elsa.

He kissed her then, in the middle of December. Her lips were as cold as ice but he thought nothing of it. His heart beat a mile a minute and he beamed down at her, but she had laughed.

She fucking _laughed_ at him.

Elsa laughed it off and said the kiss was so platonic it was laughable. That bothered him. No, wrong choice of words—it _killed_ him. It felt like his stomach plummeted to the ground and his heart screaming at him to let it stop pumping. What's the use? What's the fucking _point_?

For Jack, the sun practically shines out of Elsa's ass. For Jack, flowers grow out of her skin and the ocean is in her eyes. For Jack, Elsa is perfect and beautiful and kind and so much more than he deserves. For Jack, he's never wanted anything more than Elsa—sometimes maybe even more than his own family being alive again. For Jack, Elsa is the only person he would bend over backwards for. For Jack, Elsa is the world.

And for Elsa, Jack's probably just another piece of shit guy she feels sorry for.

He doesn't notice the sadness in her eyes or the waver in her words.

But it's almost a year later and they're okay. Kind of. Either they're really okay, or Jack has gotten better at killing himself that he's scrubbed his nerves raw and wrung his heart free of pain. This is what it is to be numb.

And now that Elsa is smiling at him, his heart stirs, and he knows he's fucking fooling himself. He's not numb. Never was.

But he's not giving her up.

And now, eight months and three weeks and a day later, he's sitting with an arm slung around her shoulders. Their relationship is lighter now somehow, but if he's being honest, it's bullshit.

She tosses her head back and the column of her pale throat is exposed, her soft hair pressing into the sleeve of his jacket, cheeks rosy, lips pink and plump and nose crinkled in mirth. His eyes linger too much on her neck and lips.

It's fucking bullshit.

* * *

This was a bad idea.

But in Jack's defense, this was a totally harmless idea.

Initially, at least.

Go out with Elsa, go their usual nightly crawls at bars (Jack even jokes that he'd like to see her work her psychiatrist magic on drunkards because he misses it, sort of, and she just laughs and shoves him in the shoulder), order a few drinks, and then go home.

They do go out. They end up at this new bar that's teeming with people and Elsa works her magic. She successfully tires out three people—one that looks like a football jock, and two art major-looking folks—and Jack laughs and offers to buy her a drink. She grins back and says yes, all while Jack tries to calm down.

This is a friendly outing, he reminds himself, and then Elsa walks ahead of him and he's staring at her ass and he wants to smack his head. Friends do not stare at each other's asses.

But whatever.

Anyway, they go inside and sit at a table for two at the corner and order. But Jack didn't count on the grand opening promo. A bottle of vodka with an order of two pitchers of mixed drinks—and Elsa likes fruity drinks so of course he fucking caves, because Jack is fucking weak.

He's so fucking weak that he orders another two pitchers of mixed drinks because Elsa giggled and said she wanted more.

Now she's giggling like mad at his side and he's pretty drunk too and he doesn't know where she lives so he drags them both to his apartment. She doesn't stop laughing and he's laughing because she's so fucking _funny_.

Something tells him this is a bad idea, but he's drunk and running out of options.

"W-Wait," he sais through chuckles, and Elsa's leaning on the wall next to his apartment door. Her lip is between her teeth again but Jack's brain is too muddled with fruity drinks and a lot of vodka that he can't even stop to appreciate it.

He manages to push the door open and stumble in, and Elsa strides in like some sort of queen. He cackles when she trips over the edge of the carpet he hasn't cleaned out in a few weeks, but catches herself before she fully tumbles into the hallway. She glares at him and stands upright.

"Is that anyway to talk to your queen?" she says haughtily.

Jack decides to play along. "Of course not, your majesty," he says mock seriously, bending down on one knee. "This lowly serf apologizes."

"Good," she says, and a laugh bursts through her lips. She steps back and loses her footing.

Jack lunges for her and wraps a hand at the back of her head to cushion the blow if she hits the wall. His other arm wraps around her waist and her back lands with a thud on the wall. His chest is pressed against hers.

And he's looking down at her, blue eyes locked on blue eyes, and he gazes at her cheeks flushed pink and lips red and inviting. She's looking up at him and her eyes flicker to his lips so briefly that he probably could have imagined it. But he didn't.

And that does it.

His lips crash on hers before he can think properly because he _knows_ this is a mistake. This is a fucking mistake because they're platonic, fucking _platonic_, and this isn't supposed to happen because Elsa will leave him. He wants to fucking punch himself because _NO, JACKSON OVERLAND, YOU'RE FUCKING RUINING EVERYTHING_, but she's kissing back.

Elsa is fucking _kissing back_.

He pulls away and dives back in like a thirsty man who had found a waterfall in the desert, and in between their kisses he undresses her with a desperation he'd always felt whenever he was around her. He tugs off her shirt and she's left standing, gasping in just her bra and jeans.

Jack pauses because they're both drunk and there is no way in _hell_ that this is good idea, but Elsa's lips are cold and hot and _good_ on his neck that his brain dissolves into mush and his erection is hard under the front of his trousers and she's touching him through his jeans and holy _shit_, this feels so fucking _good_.

_Elsa_ feels so fucking good.

Her lips drop and Jack's head nearly dives for the wall, but he's bracing himself on his forearms when he realizes that she's on her knees. With fumbling fingers she undoes his belt.

"No," he groans, pulling her up to kiss her. Elsa's breathing heavily when they part.

"What—no," she whines, her hands going to his neck, his back, his everywhere, trying to cling to him, pull him closer. Jack feels himself get harder. "I want to—let me, please—Jack, I want to _taste_ you—"

Her words make him melt into a useless puddle because he wants to fucking give in, but no—no, he's not coming without her. "No," he repeats, rougher, hotter, and he kisses her to prove his point. She's tugging off his clothes and he obliges. He practically tears his shirt off and her hands are cold against his thin, scrawny chest, and Jack is ashamed she's running her fingers over bone instead of muscle.

She kisses his neck and moans, "Jack, please—" and Jack snaps out of it.

"Bedroom," he forces out, "Now." Elsa nods, dragging her lips against his collarbone and Jack is so fucking hard. He wants her.

He _needs_ her. He needs Elsa.

Almost roughly, Jack yanks her into the next door to the left and slams it shut behind him, striding towards her until she falls back on his unmade bed. His unmade bed where he'd spent countless nights coming into his hand, thinking it was her hand, thinking it was her mouth, thinking it was her body. Thinking it was Elsa.

He lunges for her and devours her mouth, his tongue snaking in between her lips to taste her own.

Amidst the feeling of her skin on his and the sounds of her moans and whimpers and the smell of sex, he tries to remember how the _hell_ did this amount to a bad idea.

* * *

_I need a vote—who wants graphic sex? Who wants vague sex? Who has certain sex things they want to include in this fic (like barebacking, which I am definitely including)? Just send me what you want in a review and I will try my best to write it out. I need to practice my smut._

_Either that, or I just want more excuses to read more porn. (Hint: It's not the practice.)_


	5. graining on that wood

**You guys asked for this.**

**Warning: Filthiness abounds. Also, editing issues. You can just comment the grammatical/structural problems you find in the text and I will get to it ASAP.**

* * *

**TURNED  
**_chapter 4_

by Pseudonym P

* * *

Jack wakes up that morning feeling perfect and satiated.

For the first time in a long time, he feels like waking up is worth it.

He grins stupidly when remembers Elsa—Elsa hot and moaning and wanting and writhing beneath him, her center slick and pink and wet and perfect. He can still taste her on his tongue.

Jack remembers entering her for the first time, Elsa's cry sharp and breathy next to his ear and for the first time he's a gentleman and waits for her to be okay with this, but sooner than later she's bucking her hips upward and _fuck_. Fuck, she's so tight, she's so perfect, she's so _Elsa_—

He didn't even fucking bother with a condom because he wanted to feel her, he wanted to fill her, but he decided then that no, he's not going to risk it. So he pulls out the last second, and it's the worst because her pussy was squeezing him in this heavenly way right when she was coming—

"No," she whimpers, pleading and desperate, "No, Jack, please—inside of me, _please_—"

Oh, shit shit shit _shit_, he's so fucking hard, her mouth is spilling the dirtiest words and he's so close—

And her hand wraps around his length before he can stick himself back in her, pumping and the minute she touches him he explodes, painting her fist and torso with a nice, sticky white.

They fall asleep soon after, his arm draped around her and her face pressed against his chest.

His smile doesn't fall off his face when he turns to look for blonde hair and blue eyes and finds—

Nothing. Nothing but wrinkled sheets and an empty space on his bed.

Elsa's gone.

* * *

It's raining outside and it's the perfect weather for feeling miserable.

Jack doesn't even bother putting on clothes. He's just staring out the window of his kitchen with a mug of coffee in his hand that has long since gotten cold, eyes blank and he's sure he's drenched in misery from head to toe. He watches the water patter against the window with distaste.

How could she _leave_ him?

It was killing him. Was it _him_? He shakes his head. They were friends, so maybe not. Probably not. Elsa isn't a bitch. A bit bossy, sure, but not a bitch.

Maybe it was the sex? He shudders at the thought. He doesn't like to think that the sex was bad. He _hopes_ the sex wasn't bad. Oh, God, please no. Was the sex bad? Was it bad enough to drive her _away_?

He was halfway to slamming the mug into his skull when the door behind him creaks open. Jack twists his head so fast he's surprised his neck didn't snap.

Elsa's there. She's damp from the rain and she looks like a mess but she's _there_, and his heart hums pleasantly.

"Hi," she says softly, eyes tracing his back and Jack is ashamed once more that he's practically a sack of bones.

"Hey," he whispers. He sets down the mug on the kitchen counter and walks over to her, and her eyes slide to his crotch before flicking back up to his face. He stands in front of her, naked, and she raises a hand with a paper bag with some coffee shop logo on it.

"I brought breakfast," she says meekly, and Jack wants to cry.

"I thought you left," he breathed, words slipping out before he could even think of reigning them in. Elsa places a tentative hand on his arm and he steps forward, collecting her in a hug. "I thought you left," he repeats into her hair, her hair that smells of shampoo and sweat and sex.

"I didn't—I couldn't," she says into the skin of his neck, almost like a confession. After an age, they pull away and she looks into his eyes. "We need to talk about this."

Jack nods earnestly, because he knows that this is probably the only way he'll get to keep her. He wants Elsa. He wants her so, _so_ much.

His eyes drift to her collar to find her wearing a white, wrinkled polo. Funny, he was sure she was wearing a blue shirt last—

Jack's eyes widen, recognition dawning on his face. "Is that my shirt?"

Elsa smirks.

* * *

"Holy shit," he breathes. He doesn't even remember how this happened.

They're in his living room, the remnants of their breakfast scattered on his already messy coffee table. A while ago, they were talking about what the hell happened last night, and Jack apologized. It shouldn't have happened. He took advantage of her. She didn't deserve it. She should be with someone she _wanted_. Not him.

Her face twisted in disbelief and she asked him, "Is that _really_ what you think?" And she sank to her knees in front of him.

He's settled on his couch, still naked, and _Elsa is on her knees in front of him_, perfect lips around his hard cock.

"Holy shit," he repeats, tipping his head back. One of his hands is in her hair and another is stretched out on the backrest of the couch, and holy shit her tongue is swirling around the head of his dick and this is it. This is what heaven feels like.

"I can't believe," she says, pulling off him, "that you think I don't want you."

"You turned me down," he gasps, fist clenching in her hair at a particularly languid motion of her tongue against the head of his penis.

"Things change," she said simply, before placing her lips on his erection again and sending Jack's nerves on overdrive.

Elsa sucks the head of his cock and her mouth feels even better, if that were even fucking possible, and Jack groans. He looks down at her and her eyes are sharp, looking straight at him, and he seizes up.

"Elsa—" he chokes, and Elsa slides out his shaft for a brief minute and presses it to her cheek, wetting her skin and dragging it over her face and she's so fucking hot, holy fucking shit—

"Give in, Jack," she moaned hotly, hands massaging his balls. "Come in my mouth. _This_ is how much I want you."

She dives in again and sucks on his dick. Jack yells abruptly because he's already in so deep but she's—fuck, she's still going—holy _shit_—

The moment the tip of his cock touches the back of her throat his hands hold her head in place, and he bucks his hips into her face. He's spilling inside of her and he can feel her swallowing, holy shit she's _swallowing his come_—

Elsa pulls away with a gasp and smiles sloppily, lips red and raw and her mouth freshly fucked. Jack takes the moment to stare and appreciate while catching his breath.

"Sorry," he apologizes, reaching to tuck back some of her hair, but he just caresses her cheek.

Elsa turns her head to kiss his fingers, gently rubbing his hips. "Did you like it?" she asks against his fingers.

"Seriously?" Jack shakes his head. "I loved it. It was so hot." He pauses. "Did _you_ like it?"

"I liked doing it," Elsa comments nonchalantly, "I liked doing it for you."

Jack's face lights up with a lazy grin. "You're so fucking beautiful," he says without a second thought. Elsa kisses the head of his cock and stands up, undressing in front of him, slowly pulling articles of clothing off of her body without a word. His eyes watch her carefully, sliding over her form from her lips to her bare breasts to her panty-clad ass and back up.

When she takes off her underwear, she flings it at Jack's face, and he closes his eyes and licks at the part where her drenched sex has practically soaked through. His eyes snap open and he flings the underwear aside, and Jack leans forward, reaching to grasp at her hips and pull her towards him. Holy _shit_, she's so beautiful.

He leans further forward and licks at the apex of her thighs, a feather-light kiss that makes Elsa gasp. Jack grins against her skin. "You're blonde here," he comments. He didn't really notice it last night.

"You don't like that?" she asks tentatively, tipping her head down to find brown hair and carding her fingers through it. Jack presses his nose into her curls and breathes in, trying to memorize the smell of her sex.

"You're perfect," is all he says, and he roughly pulls apart her legs and sticks his tongue into her slick folds. Elsa cries out and lurches forward, grabbing his hair and shoulder roughly. Her legs are on either side of his head and she's standing on her tip toes, trembling with want. Jack grunts but doesn't stop, eventually bringing his thumb to play with her clit. Elsa screams again.

"Jack—oh, _God_, Jack—ah—"

"Feel good?" he murmurs, digging in again before Elsa gets a chance to reply. She tastes so good, salty and tangy and heavenly. He uses his other hand to press against her ass and pull her in closer, and Elsa's breath is coming in pants.

"Yes—ah, _fuck_, yes—Jack, oh God—"

"Yes, Elsa," he groans, and he can feel himself getting hard. "Keep saying my name."

"So good, so fucking _good_—" Her gasps are getting more and more desperate.

Elsa is so vocal during sex, the filthiest of words slipping from her hot little mouth Jack hums and spears his tongue into her pussy harder, nuzzling his nose into her clit. "My name, baby," he purrs against her folds, "Say my name." Elsa let's go of his head to bite into a knuckle.

"Jack," she obliges desperately, "Jack, Jack, please, Jack, I'm coming—Jack—oh _fuck_!"

Elsa comes hard and she loses her balance as her knee gives out, but Jack's gripping her hips, still lapping at her cunt and keeping her upright. When Elsa's cries are all out of her and all she's doing is breathing heavily, he lets her melt into his arms. She's blushing and gasping and moaning and Jack's chest swells with pride because he did this to her.

He can't help it—he kisses her.

His lips crash into hers with a moan from Elsa and he slips his tongue into her hot mouth, and she's right there to meet him. Their tongues are dancing this sloppy dance and spit gets pushed out the joint corner of their lips, and with one last groan from him, he sucks at her bottom lip and pulls away.

Her chest his heaving and she looks totally gone. After a moment, her eyes seem to shift into focus and she grins lazily at him. "Jack?"

Jack traces a line on her neck with his tongue briefly. "Yeah?"

"You're amazing," Elsa moans, licking her lips. "Fuck."

Their chests are pressed together, heaving from exertion, both naked and covered with sweat. Jack chuckles lightly and kisses her neck.

"Good?" he asks conversationally, and Elsa moans out a laugh.

"You're the worst," she grumbles, and Jack's fingers comb her messy hair almost absently.

After a few minutes of silence, she spoke. "I'm scared."

Jack's brow furrows with confusion. "What could you _possibly_ be scared of?"

Elsa lifts her hand and presses her finger lightly to his Adam's apple. "I'm not… normal."

He eyes her weirdly. "You don't have like… an STD, right?"

Elsa's face crumples and she guffaws. She presses her hands unto Jack's chest pushes herself off of him. "Oh my God!"

Jack grins. "Sorry." He pauses and considers. "But really, do you?"

The mirth vanishes from her expression. "No," she deadpans.

"Okay. I don't either."

She rolls her eyes. "You ruined the moment. I was trying to be serious."

Jack smarts himself and looks straight at her. "Okay, serious."

"I'm…" she starts, and bites her lip. "I really like you." Jack stays quiet and she continues. "Like… I didn't mean for this. When you asked me out almost a year ago, I thought—I don't know. I didn't know what to think, but I was scared. I was so scared of saying yes to you. But I wanted to. I really, _really_ wanted to."

"Then why didn't you?" he asks, genuinely curious.

Elsa sighs. "I'm… The easiest way to put it is that I'm not normal." She shakes her head almost pitifully. "This isn't even supposed to happen. Someday—someday, I'll this fuck up and you'll have no choice but to leave."

Okay, _that_ hurts. Jack presses a hand to the back of her neck and pulls her forward. He kisses her, desperate and pleading and speaking. He wants to tell her through that kiss that he loves her. He's not leaving her.

"I'm not leaving you," he says resolutely when he pulls away. Elsa presses her forehead to his and chuckles sadly.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

**_to be continued_**

* * *

_Okay, I'm gonna clarify some concerns._

_First off, this isn't a traditional bloodsucking vampire fic—meaning Elsa will not be biting any necks. There's a reason why Elsa plays therapist to drunk people. It will be explained later._

_Secondly, you're all perverts. Graphic sex it is. I wrote out the smut (and holy crap I feel my virgin showing) but it'll probably be in the next chapter. So far my working outline has reached the "SEX SEX SEX" plot points, so that should be fun. Watch out for that._

_Lastly, the reason why I'm suddenly updating now is that my string of job interviews is over and this is how I'm resting—writing filthy, crappy smut. Just in case anyone cares. This chapter only took like a day__—_but sadly, don't expect these speedy updates to be a regular thing. 

_Oh, and visit my tumblr over at notkorras dot co dot vu if you want! I'd greatly appreciate it._


	6. how the hell did this shit happen?

**I may have tweaked my working outline a bit. Okay, a lot. This story is going nowhere as originally planned, but don't worry—it's getting somewhere. I swear, this thing is writing itself.**

* * *

**TURNED  
**_chapter 5_

by Pseudonym P

* * *

Jack feels good.

Elsa cuddles against him, naked as the day she was born. Her fingers absently trace patterns on his chest, and he does the same to her hip.

They spent the whole day in, lazing away the Saturday with kisses and touches and sex. They ordered take out for lunch, since they were both too lazy to go anywhere. They ultimately landed on his bed, just cuddling.

And fuck, Jack feels _happy_. He's probably a sap, but he's never felt this happy in his life. This whole time with Elsa… he just feels… just fucking _happy_. No other way to say it.

For the first time, Jack feels grateful.

Elsa sighs and buries her face into his shoulder.

"You okay?" he asks without thinking, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"This is," she starts, but then struggles for words. He waits patiently for her to continue.

Suddenly, Elsa is sitting up, and he misses the feel of her skin against him instantly. She just stares down at him with a thoughtful expression.

"This was nice, Jack," she says softly, and no, no—Jack's feeling terror creep up the back of his throat. He doesn't—oh, God, please no—

Jack scrambles to sit up. "Do you, um," he stammers, nervous and scared. "Do you want to… leave?"

"No!" Elsa exclaims, shaking her head vigorously, and Jack feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. "Why would you think that?"

Jack breathes a sigh of relief, bringing his hand to push her hair over her shoulder. He leans down to kiss her bare skin, lips trailing to press his lips softly to the corner of her mouth. "I don't want you to leave."

Elsa turns her head and presses her lips to his in a languorous kiss. His tongue darts out of his mouth to meet hers and she moans with delight, but pulls away before anything hotter could happen. He chases the kiss and lands on her neck, and he nibbles lightly on her collar.

"Jack—Jack, stop," she giggles, pushing him away. He obliges with a grin.

"Did you want to do anything?" he offers. Something dark flashes over her eyes, but they're gone as quickly as they appear that Jack is sure he imagined it.

"Let's go out tonight."

* * *

Elsa plays therapist again and goes through four people tonight, and she's even kind enough to call over her victim's friends before she leaves.

He raises an eyebrow when she walks back to him. "You usually just leave them there."

She shrugs in response and they walk into the bar, the lights hazy and splashing in sharp colors around them. They settle at the bar and he orders her a martini, and a beer for himself.

Elsa flashes him a smile. "You don't have to do that."

Jack leans over and kisses the corner of her mouth, and she says nothing more.

He tips his head in thanks when the bartender slides over their drinks and Jack takes a swig of his drink before fully facing her. "So," he says, taking her hand in his. Her fingers are cold. "Us."

She bites her lip. "Us."

"One year later and you—I mean, did this ever even occur to you?" he asked, gesturing briefly between them. Elsa reaches for her drink on the countertop and takes a sip.

"It crossed my mind," she said lowly, smirking and leaning forward. "You?"

"Oh, no," he says, pulling away with a laugh. "You _know_ how I feel about you. You're not getting that out of me."

Elsa giggles in response and leans back, but a solemn expression washes over her face. "Jack, do you ever think that sometimes you do stupid things for no reason?"

The memories of him getting shit-faced flash briefly, but the memory goes further into his childhood. "When I was younger," he starts, "My sister, she—she was the worst." He laughed absently. "She'd annoy me so much and I'd think it was for no reason. So I did the same—stupid little pranks that just, they just—" Choking on his words, Jack felt like he couldn't breathe, like a weight was pressing into his chest, sharp needles pricking his weak, tiny heart.

And Jack realized that he was so tired. He was so tired of everything and shit, shit this isn't supposed to be happening in front of Elsa—_not in front of Elsa_—

Suddenly, her face is so close, her eyes wide and searching and desperate, as if she realized something important. "Jack, are you—are you okay?"

Jack swallows thickly, definitely not okay. "Ah, uh. Yeah. Sorry."

"What happened?" Elsa's casual tone is forced, but she sounds as if she was choking, too. Her eyes glazed over with a hunger Jack couldn't place. "To your sister, I mean."

Jack laughed hollowly. "She's dead, Elsa."

In a flash, Elsa is on her knees and she looks like she's about to cry, but she takes a moment to kiss Jack on the cheek. Without looking at him, she mumbles, "Jack, I'm sorry—I'm so—I'm sorry, I have to go—I'll see you tomorrow," in one breath and she turns her back. She slinks out of the bar faster than he can call out her name.

_Fuck_, he thinks, feeling anger and resentment and most of all loss. _Fuck_ _fuck_ fuck, _you idiotic piece of shit, you promised yourself to never open your mouth about your family in front of anyone and now Elsa _left_ you_—

Jack angrily slams back her martini as if it were a shot and finishes his beer, the prickly pain in his chest gone but the sting of alcohol sharp on his mouth. Without a word, the lays down a bill and some change that covers the charge before walking out. He eyes the sign on the wall and decides that _The Pit_ is the worst place in the world.

* * *

Jack is awoken by a doorbell.

In true, not-a-morning-person fashion, he ignores it, but the bitch is fucking persistent.

He grunts and practically crawls over to his door. He opens it and blearily stares at Elsa, who's huddled in her coat and smirking at his form, clad only in boxers.

Wait.

"Elsa!" Jack cries, and in a weird burst of modesty he jumps behind the door to shield himself. "Holy shit."

"Sorry." She's giggling, but then she settles into a serious mood. Jack remembers what happened last night. "Can I come in?" she asks tentatively.

He simply opens the door wider.

Elsa thanks him and steps into his apartment and he shuts the door behind her. She's standing so close to him, and he can just—

Jack clears his throat and walks to the kitchen. "Can I get you anything?" There isn't much in there, but there's enough for coffee. Jack hopes she doesn't ask for anything else.

"Coffee would be good, thanks."

_Thank God_. Jack prepares a pot and Elsa hangs around in the living room.

He's watching the coffee pot do it's thing absently while raking through his thoughts. It's so awkward now. One night it was fantastic and then the next—

"Jack?" he hears turns to find Elsa at the doorway to his kitchen, divested of her coat. The only thing blocking him from her is his counter.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "Coffee's almost ready."

She shakes her head. "I want—I'm sorry." Jack stares at her and Elsa walks over. She stands in front of him and tentatively places her cold fingers on his abdomen. She looks up at him. "I'm sorry, for leaving. It's—it's so complicated. I…" she trails off, and Jack tilts his head.

"You can tell me," he murmurs softly.

"It's not that simple." Jack takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around her shoulders and press his face into her hair, hair that smells like snow and ice and perfection, and her hands slide to embrace his torso.

Jack changes the subject. "Do you think I could leave you?" he whispers, and the shake of Elsa's head is subtle but heavy against his skin.

"You might have to," she answers almost miserably, and Jack swings his arm around her and hugs her fully.

Elsa starts to sob and Jack rocks her back and forth.

* * *

Jack feels like she's hiding something.

And it hurts, you know? It's been a month since the really amazing sex and just… Jack feels like he's been snuffed out. Like it was all a one-time thing.

And it sucks.

They haven't had sex since then, because Jack wanted to respect Elsa's wishes. Or he didn't want to come across as a major asshole. He waited for her to approach him, to initiate it, but… nothing.

He tries not to let that hurt his feelings. It sort of doesn't, because Elsa's still all up for making out and heavy petting and she gave him this lap dance that one time when she was drunk but she passed out halfway. So he's sure it's not because he sucks at sex. (Kind of. The doubt still lingers, but whatever. Feeling self-conscious is normal. Right?)

But there was a question plaguing the back of his mind: If not that, then what?

It was killing him. He wanted to fucking know. He wanted to know Elsa, inside and out.

Fuck, he's so in love with her it's fucking pathetic.

Don't get him wrong—she's not avoiding him like the plague. They've gotten used to touches, cuddles, occasionally sleeping in just underwear, kisses and other sappy things. But sometimes she'd leave in the morning and it would tears his heart out and she'd stitch it back with delicate carresses when she'd return at night. Whenever he would finally open up, she'd just disappear and apologize with a kiss when she'd come back.

Like today. She left this morning.

He rubs the palms of his hands into his eyes with exasperation and stares out the window. It was dusk and Elsa's bound to be back in an hour, so he figures he should at least straighten up his apartment. And he does.

The doorbell rings not an hour later, but he doesn't get why she just doesn't waltz in. She has a key anyway.

But whatever, he'll humor her.

He strides over and opens the door. "Hey."

She lunges at him and devours her mouth with his, and he's taken aback. He pushes the door close when her tongue is practically shoved down his throat, and she's tugging off her shirt and slipping a hand into his boxers and oh _shit_, this is _phenomenal_.

But something's wrong.

"Whoa, whoa—_wait_," he breathes, tearing himself away. Elsa is gasping.

"Jack, I'm—"

"Are you okay?" he says before she can finish, and her face twists into something unpleasant.

"I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head and moving away. "I'm sorry. I just—I didn't—I missed you. I want you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Jack scrambles over to her, nearly tripping over her stray shirt in the process. "Hey, hey—wait, no. Elsa, sorry. I just…" Jack sighs. "I don't want you think that you have to do this for me."

Elsa's head snaps up and her eyes are watery. "I just want to make you happy, Jack."

He frowns. "What makes you think that you don't?"

It's like she doesn't hear him. "I don't—Jack, I don't want you to leave—"

The moment the words leave her lips, his train of thought crashes messily, like an out of control freight train. "_What_?" He strides over to her and firmly grabs her shoulders, the hurt and irritation he felt for the past month gathering together to make a giant pile of pissed off. "Are you serious right now? _You're_ the one leaving _me_!"

Jack tries not to scream. He really does, but—Elsa just makes him feel so many things. He used to be numb, and Elsa waltzes into his life, all blue-eyed and pale-haired and beautiful and magnificent and he feels like he has a heart again. And he _feels_ again.

And he feels _angry_.

"I'm sorry!" she cries out, close to sobbing, "I'm sorry, Jack, please—I don't—I don't mean it, please—"

Her pleas put out the fire burning beneath his skin and what washes over him is a cold, familiar feeling. The misery sets over him like a second skin, eerily familiar.

"Are you even happy with me?" he asks, desperate and pathetic and _miserable_. A weight settles on his chest—familiar and prickly, and he _swears_ he felt it before but he can't remember _when_—and Elsa jerks away.

"How—Jack, no please—Let's stop, I'm sorry—"

"Am I just a side-fuck? Is there someone else?" The words tumble out of his mouth before he can think, and Elsa's walking back until she's against a wall, as if trying to get away from him but she stares at him with hunger that she's trying to suppress. Jack chokes.

"Jack, stop—please, _stop_—" she screams desperately, but the pain is telling him to keep going. To just pour out his pain. So he doesn't stop.

"Am I not good enough for you?" he whispers brokenly, and suddenly he's falling into a pit of hopelessness, wave after wave of disorienting pain crashes into him and he falls to the floor, feeling numb. Elsa shrieks and runs over to catch him, wetting his neck with her tears.

"I'm sorry," she sobs, over and over again, and that's the last thing Jack hears before his world fades to black.

* * *

_**to be continued**_


	7. we be all night

**TURNED  
**_chapter 6_

by Pseudonym P

* * *

Jake wakes with a sharp gasp and he has barely any time to register that he's in his own bedroom before lips press almost instantly into the skin of his neck.

"Hey," someone whispers into his ear, and he turns to face familiar blue eyes and pale hair and a gorgeous face, the moonlight casting a soft shadow on her face. "You okay?"

"Mm." Jack rubs a hand across his face. "What time is it?"

"One, maybe two in the morning." Elsa cuddles closer and Jack presses his cheek to her hair. "Listen," she starts, but Jack doesn't want to hear it. "Jack, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I'm—" she hesitates, and Jack decides to take the chance.

He rolls to his side and catches her, wrapping an arm around her waist and trapping her lips in a strong, devouring kiss, swallowing her gasps and moans and short little breaths, tongue massaging and tasting her, breathing her in. He pulls away when he feels like his lungs are about to collapse and Elsa is gasping for breath.

He tries to think of what to say, because he's desperate now, he's desperate and scared that she'll up and leave again and just… he just wants her to stay. To stay everyday for the rest of his life.

He's _so_ fucking _in love_ with her.

Jack's pretty much established that in the past year but, fuck, isn't love supposed to run out or something? You're supposed to get sick of it. You're supposed to not want the other person anymore after like, what, a year? Or two? That's why relationships turn shitty and marriages don't work out because you run out of feelings. But… Elsa.

Jack doesn't think that his feelings are ever gonna run out on her. He doesn't think he's going to get sick of blue eyes and pink lips and blond hair. He doesn't think he's not going to want Elsa and her body and her. It's been nearly three years later and he's still fucking in love with her.

He's _still_ so fucking in love with her.

_Fuck_.

He's at a loss, so he just leans forward and murmurs for her to never leave him against her cheek, and she freezes for the slightest moment, but Jack picks it up. He's so attuned to her it's ridiculous.

"Elsa?" he asks when he pulls away, and her face is screwed up and sad and miserable.

"I'll only hurt you," is all she says, tears dripping from her eyes and leaking into the pillows of his bed.

Jack simple chuckles, low and pained. "And _I'll_ only hurt _you_. I guess we're even."

Elsa looks like she's about to protest, he kisses her again and doesn't let her speak.

When she moans against his lips, his heart soars and he presses harder because, fuck, this is a miracle. He's not supposed to be this happy. His life's been happy then shitty then happy again, now, and he's sure it's a cycle. It's bound to turn shitty again at some point.

Elsa gasps and slips a hand into his boxers and he decides that fuck it, it doesn't matter. He'll deal with whatever his shitty life throws his way when it does.

For now, it's Elsa who matters.

* * *

They sort of fight that morning.

Elsa shakes her head, and Jack wants to just cross the shitty living room of his shitty apartment and have her, take her, kiss the only non-shitty thing in his shitty life.

"I should leave," she says again, and Jack snaps.

"Do you fucking _know_ what you do when you leave?" he says, anger pulsing through his veins. Elsa's eyes flash with fear. "Do you—when you leave—when you leave me behind—" Jack chokes, and there's a familiar prickly feeling in his chest again. Almost instantly, Elsa is against him, lips against his and trying to swallow his words.

"Please don't," she says in between kisses. "Don't. Please don't."

"Don't what?" Jack rasps out, suddenly so tired.

"Just… calm down," Elsa whispers, her calm voice a stark difference from the desperate way her fingers trailed his body. "Calm down. I don't want to leave."

"Then why are you leaving?" he murmurs against her mouth.

Elsa pulls away and looks conflicted. "Because… I can't explain."

"That's a wonderful answer," Jack replies acidly, and Elsa glares.

"Look, you think this is easy for me?" she snaps. "Leaving—I don't want to do this. But I have to."

"But why?" Jack roars.

"You won't understand!"

"Bullshit," Jack snarls, before diving down to kiss her and push her down against the couch. He's tugging off her clothes and Elsa does nothing to stop it, because fuck, he knows she wants this, too. He knows that she wants to kiss him, to hold him, to fuck him as much as he makes her want to scream his name using his mouth and his fingers and his dick.

So why doesn't she _let_ him?

Elsa rolls them over and practically attacks him with her mouth, hands knotting into his hair. A sharp feeling of pleasure spreads down his neck and he moans, loud and deep, fingers of one hand splayed out on her bare back and the other on her neck, his thumb lovingly rubbing her jaw. The passion of the moment rapidly weakens when she pulls away, and Jack just watches her.

She kisses him again, soft as a feather. "I want to tell you so many things."

"You can," he says, thumb still running over her jaw.

Elsa chuckles weakly. "I don't know where to start."

Jack hums, and silence covers them. "We never really talk," he says after a minute.

Elsa nods and presses her forehead to his. "We're better with sex than we are with conversation."

"Really?" Jack brings the hand that was splayed out on her back to her panty-clad ass. "Well, I think I'd like to be good at both."

"Like I said, I don't know where to start."

Jack nudges her cheek with his nose. "I do."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He closes his eyes and take a deep breath. "I love you."

Elsa stops breathing and pulls away, eyes wide and disbelieving, staring at him. "You—I—"

Jack kisses her then, but Elsa refuses to give in. She tugs on his hair and he pulls away. "I love you," he repeats, blue eyes boring into her own, and Elsa's breath hitches in her throat again.

"Me?" she asks, almost shyly.

"Yeah," Jack breathes, leaning forward again to place a kiss on her jaw, trailing his mouth to her lips.

This time, Elsa surrenders.

* * *

The curtains are shut—at Elsa's insistence for some reason, but whatever, as long as she doesn't fucking leave again—and Jack walks back from the bathroom to find the girl—_his_ girl, still lewdly sprawled across the bed. He drags his eyes from her satisfied face to her hands on her heaving chest and playing with her beaded nipples, down her slim torso to the wet prize at the apex of her thighs still dripping with his come.

The sight sends a sharp spark of arousal to his groin, and he groans. Elsa opens her eyes and smiles at him.

"Come here," she mouths, reaching one hand out towards him and Jack follows, crawling into the bed and nestling next to her, maximizing skin-on-skin contact.

She turns and kisses his naked chest, fingers running over his skin like it's trying to get familiar with every ridge of his torso. "We never got to talk," she whispers against his collar.

"Mm."

Elsa chuckles, because she knows Jack isn't listening. She decides to up her game by dragging her hand to his cock and lightly massaging it. Jack hisses. "You like that?"

"Yeah—_Fuck_, Elsa."

"Mm," is all Elsa says, before hooking her leg and hoisting herself up to straddle him. Her hips are pressing against his boner and she gives a teasing thrust, and Jack groans.

"Baby—ah, maybe inside of you—"

"But we're talking," Elsa mockingly whines, and grinds some more. Her hands pet his chest gently, as if trying to find purchase, but it's more like she's just touching him.

Jack is fucking _weak_. "Okay—_okay_—talk, but talk—talk _fast_, because I really want to fuck you—"

"Are you going to listen?" Elsa punctuates her question with a particularly sweet thrust and Jack practically yells out his consent. Elsa laughs and leans forward, peppering kisses on his jaw. She leans forward and whispers in his ear.

"I love you, too."

Jack freezes and Elsa feels like she's terrified, even if she had no reason to be—he fucking _confessed_ like two hours ago and okay there was sex but it was also nice to know if she felt the same.

But better late than never, he supposes.

He sets a hand at the nape of her neck and jerks her forward, kissing her full on the mouth and grinding up against her center with desperation. Elsa moans deeply, and Jack palms her ass. He pulls away in the slightest, but their lips are still brushing together.

"You love me?" he asks, and Elsa nods, teary-eyed. Whether it's from her feelings or the longing for sex, he doesn't know. But he bathes in it.

His chest is warm with something and he smiles, and Elsa smiles down at him. The hand on her ass slips to her core, two of his fingers slipping in.

"I love you," she gasps, and Jack pulls out, rubbing his come and her wetness all over her pussy lips. Elsa's hips jerk.

"Say it again," Jack whispers deviously, playing with her clit.

"I love you!" Elsa repeats, and Jack smiles, craning his neck to kiss her.

"I love you, too," he says when he pulls away. "What do you want me to do?"

"Fuck me." Elsa whines and grinds her core against his fingers.

Jack grins. "You know," he teases, "You could say 'please.'"

Elsa scoffs, but it sounds like she's choking. "Don't get—_ah_—cocky."

He kisses her—he swears he will never, _ever_ get sick of kissing her—and pulls away with a loud smack. "I love you."

Elsa's eyes flash and she takes the opportunity. "Then prove it," she challenges, and he positions his cock to slip into her. He slips into her with a cheeky grin, and Elsa rolls her eyes.

The next thing she rolls his her hips, and Jack squeezes his eyes shut.

It's like he blacks out, because the next thing he remembers is spilling inside of her with a sharp cry, and Elsa is giggling. He crashes on top of her and Elsa kisses his bare shoulder. "You like that?" she teases, and Jack rolls off of her.

"I always like it," he responds, tugging her closer.

Elsa groans when she moves. "Jack, fuck, I can feel your come inside me—it's so hot."

Jack is about to open his mouth and speak but she shuts her eyes with pleasure and squeezes her legs together that he loses his words. He settles for defeat. "You do this on purpose," he grouses, and Elsa giggles, half-exasperated and half-amused.

"Refractory periods are a bitch, aren't they?"

Jack hums and tugs Elsa closer, and her head is laying on his naked chest. They settle to breathe in comfortable silence.

"Jack," Elsa starts, "I have to tell you something."

"Tell away." Jack brings one hand to play with Elsa's hair.

"You won't believe me, though."

"Now why would you say that?"

Elsa laughs and Jack's confused. "I know you won't."

"Try me."

She groans. "Afterglow of really great sex, now. Talking about serious things, later."

Jack chuckles. "Fine." He kisses her hair. "I love you."

Elsa kisses his chest and cuddles closer. "Love you, too."

* * *

_**to be continued**_


End file.
